


A Light Long Lost

by CountessBorel



Series: Party at the Horse Gang FC House [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Actually more of a character study, Gen, Once again a mess for my WoL, Origin Story, i made myself emo writing this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:00:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27250852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CountessBorel/pseuds/CountessBorel
Summary: A look into the life of Rowen.
Series: Party at the Horse Gang FC House [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1988452
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	A Light Long Lost

**Author's Note:**

> This was merely written for myself and a friend but if y'all find some enjoyment out of it, who am I do deny you that pleasure. Ao3 is just a good way to keep my written works organized.
> 
> This was a quick and messy write.

Rowen’s life had not been easy, yet it had not been extraordinarily difficult either. He cannot remember anything before a few months prior to being called on by the Scions. He had his name, or what he thought it was, his age, and how to do most things, other than that, it was nothing. He couldn’t remember his parents, if he even had parents, or where he was born. He could speculate, considering his race, but no one seemed to know him. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that at the beginning, he wasn’t sure if he even understood the proper emotions that were necessary to be concerned about it. 

The first few months of his ‘life’ as he liked to call it, were difficult, that he could say without a doubt. One moment he just was and the next he was being asked to deliver Eorzea from conflict. He just did as he was told, go there, do that, save this person. He had no free-will, but perhaps that wasn’t why he was born, or created, or whatever reason he was placed on this shard. He had a knack for fighting, for healing, for killing, and that frightened him the most. He wasn’t bothered by the fighting, no he didn’t much care what happened to him. No one was waiting for him, as long as he succeeded in his current mission, his death wouldn’t mean much to the people around him. It wouldn’t bring sorrow or pain, anger or grief. No, his death would be just that, a death of great unimportance. The killing though, it brought something out in him that he was fairly certain most sane people didn’t have. 

He can remember the first killing blow, the blood pumping in his veins, almost as if it were singing to him.

_fight more, kill more, feed_

The first time it happened, he thought nothing of it, then as the battles went on, as the death toll grew heavier by his hands, it started to worry him. He made no mention of it, kept it to himself, but he was fearful, perhaps one of the first emotions he could remember overwhelming him. He’d sat in his room - after one particularly nasty fight - In a ball in the corner, trying to control the urge. Wishing beyond a doubt there was someone he could talk to, a mother, a father, a kindred spirit, _anyone_. But there was no one. As it was since the beginning, there wasn’t a soul around that seemed to _care_ about him, his feelings, his concerns. 

The first person or people really, to try to befriend him were the twins. For the first several months of being with them, it was just Alphinaud, a boy far too young to be fighting in a war, but a boy capable none-the-less. Rowen barely spoke, barely showed emotions. It tended to ward people away, but how was he to know what was proper? Who was the person to teach him the right and the wrong of it? No one, because everyone assumed that he’d had a life before them, had knowledge of everything that made a human, human. That was not the case, nothing was ever simple with Rowen, so he kept silent. When Alisaie joined the group again, Alphinaud got braver, got stronger, having his sister around seemed to bring him out of his shell more, and in turn, gave him the courage to speak to Rowen more frequently. 

Rowen would be by himself somewhere, away from the hustle and bustle of things that he just didn’t _understand_. He liked the quiet, like feeling as if he was normal if that was even what he was feeling. Alphinaud and Alisaie always seemed to find him, even as adolescents, they seemed to understand what he needed. That was something Rowen was beginning to understand, children seemed to be more in tune with the emotions and feelings around them, they weren’t afraid to say their piece, whether right or wrong. Adults had experience, had fear, and that in turn led them to keep distance, not ask questions. The twins would sit him, mostly in silence, but even if they talked, it was quiet, and never about things surrounding the older male. Rowen appreciated it, he didn’t like being asked questions about himself, didn’t like talking about himself nearly at all. His name and his age were all he would willingly divulge, any other topic led to him either ignoring them or walking away, it just wasn’t something he was ready to show. 

After some time, Rowen started to join in on the conversations, a word here, a joke there. He was still mostly silent, but the twins knew he was there for them, as they were there for him. He grew to care for them, grew to have this feeling in his chest, his heart whispering quietly.

_Protect. Protect. Protect._

He’d finally understood what that meant when Alphinaud got injured during a battle. He remembered seeing him across the field, remembered watching as Alphinaud concentrated on healing Thancred, the explosion blood that stopped that concentration. Rowen was across the field in an instant, heart pounding with a feeling he’d never had before, it was fear, but a different kind of fear. All he knew was that Alphinaud was lying on the ground bleeding and he had no tome to save him. Thancred came rushing over, to protect them as Rowen made up his mind, his life or Alphinaud’s the choice wasn’t a hard one to make. 

He’d learned the hard way once, that tomes of magic chose their master, and once chosen, it could not be moved, save for a person’s death. Attempting to use a magic that was not your own was ill-advised, stupid, and in most cases, deadly. Rowen didn’t care, the pounding in his chest, the fear he didn’t recognize has him doing the ill-advised action. He remembers Alisaie screaming across the field to not do it, to just take Alphinaud and flee, but there wasn’t time and Rowen seemed to be the only one that knew it. 

Pain flared in his chest as he called on Alphinaud’s carbuncle, pleading to him to allow him this, just this once, to save its master. It was a fight, but eventually the magic relented, only slightly so Rowen could utter the words to save Alphinaud’s life. He could not remember much after that, Alisaie’s screaming as he wrapped himself in that cloud of light though, was something he would never forget. 

It was days later that he woke, screaming in agony as his body tried to fight the symptoms of using someone else’s magic. He vaguely remembered seeing Alphinaud sitting by his bed side, fear and tears on his face. There was no cure for this, no magic that would help fight the magic of another like this. It was only up to Rowen to fight it. He thought about giving up, giving in to the death that screamed at him to come. But then the memory of the flame he’d felt in his chest that day reminded him that no, just this once there was something he wanted to protect. 

He’d lived, but it hadn’t been easy. He fought against that magic for days, begging it to release him, he’d not done it out of malice, but instead to protect someone, and that seemed to be the only reason that he opened his eyes again. After that, the twins were ever at his side, and he at theirs. Slowly he began to open up more to them, slowly they showed him how to be a human, and he was grateful for that. Still quiet as he was, they worried about him, though never seemed to voice their concern, knowing that it might have the reverse effect. 

The rest of the Scion’s seemed to show more care towards him after that, knowing that the person that they called the Warrior of Light had grown to at least show some form of bond with their misfit band of heroes. Rowen still felt he didn’t fit in. Some mornings he would wake up with the sun and not a care in the world, others he wouldn’t wake at all, for he had never turned to sleep. Alone in the dark, wondering what the point of it all was. The more he learned about those around him, the more he learned of their history and their families, his mind only grew darker, why must he be so inherently different than the rest? 

Those days were the hardest for him, those days were the worst when it came to fighting. The Scion’s eventually started to see a pattern, and concern was ebbing between each of them as their companion seemed to sink into the enjoyment of the fight, the feeling of a blade or a spear sinking deep into the sinewy flesh of a monster or a person. On those days he opted to leave his healing alone, opted to just feel something for once. Most of the time, should Rowen need to head into battle, he insisted in doing it alone, not wanting harm to come to those around him. 

They always fought him about it, but it was better this way and he knew it. He wouldn’t have to see the look of concern written across the faces of those he battled with, he wouldn’t have to worry about the whispers that came after. Things started to click into place after a while, he finally began to realize why his blood sang the way it did during a dance with death. It gave him something to feel, and that was the root of his issue it seemed. 

Since the beginning his emotions were lacking, his knowledge of how to use them, or even what they were for were lacking. But in the heat of battle, the one thing he knew was the feel of it all, perhaps it wasn’t entirely normal, but it was all he knew and understood. As he stayed with the Scion’s, he realized the lack of care and concern they showed towards him. Or at least audibly. If he was hurt during battle the only ones seemingly concerned were the twins, but most of the time they were whisked away elsewhere, unable to check up on him. 

He would go days running to and fro, fighting battle after battle with little rest, and there was no voice of concern, no statement realizing his ailment or otherwise, no suggestion to rest. He was a weapon to most of them, and nothing more, and it was draining. From day one it seemed that his only roll in life was to fight, which perhaps wasn’t too far off the mark. 

After a year Rowen finally understood what it was, why he didn’t feel like he belonged, why he sought a fight just to feel something.

_No one cared and perhaps no one ever would._


End file.
